


In Trouble

by Hello_Spikey



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Humiliation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-02
Updated: 2009-07-02
Packaged: 2019-07-02 07:27:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15791832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hello_Spikey/pseuds/Hello_Spikey
Summary: Spike's gotten himself in trouble and Angel gets to pick the punishment.





	In Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Dub-con, violence, swearing, humiliation

Spike knew he was in trouble the moment a small smile appeared on Angel’s face. “And this banishment would be, what, for eternity?”

“That is what the She’Kreahal are asking for, yes,” Wesley said, with a quick glance back at the demon behind him, who lowered his disturbingly horny head a fraction in assent.

Angel looked in danger of giggling.

“Oi! This is my life we’re talking about!” Spike scowled. “Wouldn’t see your broodiness chuckling if it was you they wanted to truck off to some hell dimension.”

Angel hid his face behind his hand for a moment, his shoulders quivering. “Sorry, sorry,” he said, and composed a serious expression. “Wes, ask the esteemed ambassador if we might make recompense other than handing over Spike.”

Wesley turned and conversed with the demon in a series of sibilant sighs and glottal clicks.

“Whatever you’re paying Percy,” Spike muttered, “it isn’t enough.”

“Be quiet, Spike, I’m angry enough with you for causing this problem.”

“How was I to bleedin’ know…”

Wesley cleared his throat, turning back to them. “The ambassador will forget the incident if our tribe leader – I suspect that is you, Angel – properly punishes the miscreant.”

Angel smiled.

“Send me to the hell dimension,” Spike said.

***

Angel sat at his desk, resting his head on one hand as he grinned, watching Spike pace. In front of him, he had a list of appropriate punishments provided by the She’Kreahal ambassador by way of Wesley.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Well, maybe if you didn’t keep popping in and out of my meetings at whim, you wouldn’t have offended the ambassador. Or, maybe you would have attended the training session on She’Kreahal etiquette.”

“I scratched my sodding head. The punishment should fit the crime.” Spike folded his arms and glared at Angel. “I said I was sorry, didn’t I?”

Angel lifted the paper. “These are the punishments they feel fit the crime. It was an awful insult to the ambassador and his family. Don’t worry, I’m not going to pick ‘ritual beheading’. That’s number three on the list.”

“Peaches…”

“Mmm… look at that. Calling me annoying nick-names doesn’t make me want to be lenient. Isn’t that strange?”

“You sadistic prat. Just let’s agree on something and get it over with.”

“It says here you should wear some sort of ‘shaming garment’ throughout the period of punishment. I’m thinking… g-string.”

“Damn it, Peaches…”

“Now it’s a gold lamé g-string.” Angel settled back in his chair, hands behind his head, grinning.

“You can’t do this to me.”

“Yes, I can.” Angel stood. “Look, Spike. You’re going to have to shut up and put up with this, and you will be punished, for real, so get used to feeling uncomfortable, and start being grateful I’m not Angelus.”

Spike looked away first. He reached up to scratch his head, then stopped, clenching his fist in frustration. “Don’t suppose it’s too late to talk you down to a nice black bikini brief?”

Angel took out a clean sheet of paper and a pen. “Take this note to Lorne. He’ll arrange your costume for the week.”

“The week?”

Angel raised one eyebrow. “You’d rather this lasted a year?”

Spike snatched the note from Angel’s hand muttering, “Bloody sadist.”

Angel felt only a little guilty for the twinge of excitement Spike’s capitulation gave him.

This was going to be fun.

***

Angel paused to admire the flex and sway of pale buttocks as Spike crawled his way across the staff cafeteria, cleaning the floor with a very small brush. Pale skin and the white floor offset the scarlet G-string that lay nicely in the dip of Spike’s coccyx, with a little rhinestone detail where the strings met. Lorne was right; gold would have looked dreadful next to Spike’s skin-tone. Angel congratulated himself on choosing Lorne for that important task. A good manager knows his people’s strengths, especially when they exceed his own knowledge.

Spike paused, mid-scrub, and without turning, said, “You’re practically panting, Peaches. Is my arse really that pretty?”

“Yeah,” Angel said, then cleared his throat and frowned. “I thought I was clear on the calling me ‘Peaches’ thing.”

Spike sighed, shifted his weight (yay!) and started scrubbing again. The motion of his arm back and forth caused his backside to wriggle in time. “Sorry, oh mighty sire.”

“Try it without the sarcasm,” Angel said.

Spike sat back on his haunches, backside flexing against his wrinkled, exposed feet. “Damn it, Angel. I’m sore. My knees and hands are aching, the floor is only half-done, and your mostly-evil staff have been pinching every sodding part of me every chance they get.”

“You haven’t been encouraging them, have you?”

Spike turned and gave Angel a dirty look. Angel smiled. “What?”

“Your order not to stop ‘em wasn’t encouragement enough, oh great and all-powerful leader of the nancy boy tribe?”

Angel pulled a chair out and settled in to watch Spike complete his task. “I’ll let the insolence slide this time, but Spike, you’ve already doubled your punishment time.”

Spike stared at him, mouth agape. Angel shrugged. “The She’Kreaha will know if the punishment isn’t severe enough, Spike. I’m just doing what I can to keep you from being banished from this world which I know you love.”

Spike grimaced. “Try not to drool while you’re lying.”

“Come on, back to work.” Angel flicked his hand forward.

Spike sighed and bent to his task. The gentle, rhythmic brushing sound, punctuated now and then with a dip in the bucket of soapy water and a ringing, soon filled the room with a soothing atmosphere. Angel had to admit, the swaying backside didn’t hurt either.

Harmony came in to fetch her lunch. “Oh, bossy! I didn’t expect to see you here.” She bit her lip, looking longingly at Spike.

“Go ahead,” Angel said, with a magnanimous wave of his hand.

Harmony squealed. “Have I told you you’re the best boss ever?” She traipsed up to Spike and slapped his rear hard.

“Ow! Harm! Not bloody again!”

“But you just look so cute down there, blondie bear!”

Angel cleared his throat. Spike looked back at him with a pleading expression. Angel smiled mercilessly. “Now, Spike, I told you not to disturb any of my employees.”

“When this is over,” Spike growled.

“It’ll be worth it,” Angel replied, and settled back to watch Harmony patting Spike, ruffling his hair, and generally annoying him.

Spike had lasted two days wearing nothing but a g-string, performing manual tasks and wearing no hair-gel. He could take another two weeks. Thinking about it made sitting still difficult. Angel stood. “When you’re done in here,” he said, “the floor in my office could use some attention.”

Angel had to keep himself calm. It wouldn’t do to enjoy this too much. Annoying little undead shit or not, Spike was a soulled being and…

Yeah, Angel didn’t really remember why he should respect him. Whatever it was, it wasn’t as pressing a concern as how gorgeous the boy looked with his hair disheveled, his face defiant, on his knees, streaked with dirt, and nearly naked.

The rhinestone was a nice touch. He’d mention it to Lorne if he thought he could get the compliment out without embarrassing himself.

With difficulty, Angel pushed the images out of his mind and concentrated on work. There was a never-ending pile of approvals waiting for his signature, and the temptation to sign without reading was just what the senior partners wanted from him.

With a sigh, he sat down to read every. Last. Word.

Deeply engrossed in the circuitous phrases of an information-sharing contract, Angel didn’t even notice the door to his office opening some hours later. His first awareness of Spike’s presence was a heavy sigh. He looked up to find Spike standing by the door, hands on his hips, looking around. “Where’s your broom, then?”

His knees were an angry red, chaffed from his long scuttle across the break room, and the red dipped down in narrow V’s along his shinbones. His face was tired and he had a smudge of dirt on one cheek.

Angel’s cock thumped against his suddenly tighter slacks. He cleared his throat and licked dry lips. “Uh… ask Harmony. I think there’s a utility closet by her desk.”

Spike turned and left, muttering about how of course Neanderthal executives wouldn’t know where the sodding broom was.

Angel had completely lost track of where he was in the contract. He put a hand on his groin, as though hoping he could hold it in.

Spike came back with a broom and a dustpan. He set the dustpan on top of one of the office chairs, resolutely turned his back on Angel, and started sweeping. His head was bent forward, exposing his long, taut nape, and every line of his body quivered with repressed rage.

Angel realized he’d started to rub his erection through his slacks. He hastily withdrew his hand from his lap and gathered up the contract he was reading. He couldn’t keep his eyes on it, though. He tapped it together and set it back in the “in” tray. Then he pushed the tray further away from himself. “Spike?” His voice squeaked a little. He coughed.

Spike sighed and turned, leaning his weight on the broom, his hip jutting out, insolent contrapposto, like an irritated Hermes captured leaning on his staff. “Wot?”

“Come here.”

Spike dragged his feet across the carpet until he was just in front of Angel’s desk. “Yes, master?” he asked with dripping sarcasm.

Angel felt a moment of vertigo, like he was on the edge of a cliff. He found himself judging the mixture of defiance and weariness in Spike’s expression, unsure if weary resignation was winning. He pushed his chair back. “I’d like you to dust off my desk.”

Spike looked down at the gleaming, clean wood and raised an eyebrow.

Angel pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket. He held it out. “Polish it.”

A tiny quirk of lips, and Spike nodded, taking the inadequate polishing cloth in hand, he started wiping the pristine surface.

“There’s a spot closer to me.” Angel nodded toward the desk.

Spike’s expression said he wasn’t fooled for a minute, but he reached across the desk to rub the imaginary spot.

As Angel had hoped, this made Spike bend well over the wide desk. Angel stood. Spike stopped, starting to straighten, but Angel said, “No, no, keep working. I’m just going to…”

Get some air? Check on how Harmony is wasting company resources this minute? He couldn’t come up with a lie quick enough, and anyway, it didn’t matter, because now he was around his desk and pressing his clothed body against Spike’s mostly-bare one. Angel’s hands found the slim hips, like grasping the steering wheel of his beloved Plymouth, the smooth flesh felt right against his palms.

Spike froze under him, stiff and slightly trembling. “All right, Peaches, you’ve had your fun.”

“I told you not to call me that.” Angel rocked his hips forward, loving the friction, so good and yet so not enough.

Spike tried to twist out from under him in earnest, nearly succeeding in bucking Angel off. Angel grabbed his shoulders and slammed him hard down onto the desk. He let his lips skim over the cheek below him, tracing the edge of Spike’s ear. “I can smell them all on you – every casual grope and pinch.” He inhaled deeply. “God, you’re such a little slut. Did you wiggle for them? Bat your eyelashes?”

Spike jerked, but it did nothing to free him from Angel’s superior leverage. Teeth clenched, he said, “Just did what you told me to. Didn’t fight. You’re a piece of work.”

Angel pressed his left forearm across Spike’s neck and let his right hand slide down his body, enjoying the gritty feel of dirty skin. “I think it’s time for you to do something else for me.”

“No,” Spike said, but he didn’t move.

Angel’s hand was on his ass now. He squeezed the pleasant little plumpness there and let his fingers slide under the flimsy g-string. The fabric snapped as his pushed two fingers into the tight crease. “How would you like to shorten your punishment a week?”

Spike was panting a little, short quick breaths, and shaking. No doubt trying to restrain his own panic. But he didn’t say no. Angel jabbed his fingers hard into the tight pucker, feeling the heat of friction as he forced protesting muscle to part. It was just his fingers, but the dominance of it alone almost made him come. He pressed his arm down harder, feeling the bones of Spike’s neck grinding against the desk. He pushed his fingers in to the palm and smelled blood. He drew his hand out and fumbled with his flies.

“You’re gonna regret this,” Spike said, tiredly. His body relaxed, turning soft where it had been rigid with tension. “I don’t mean that as a threat. I mean when the lust stops clouding your brain and your soul grabs hold of your balls and twists ‘em near off with the realization of what you’ve done.”

Angel almost stopped at that, but he was too far gone. His cock freed, he rubbed it just one, then thrust his fingers into Spike again, three this time, hard and twisting, trying to tear him and get more blood flowing. Blood was terrible lube, but it beat nothing, and it was all he had the patience for. Three jabs and he grabbed his cock and slammed it home, pausing only when the gripping flesh nearly undid him again. He wanted this to last.

And Spike was wrong, his soul wasn’t complaining one bit, because this was Spike, who was as guilty as he was and deserved everything that came to him.

Angel griped Spike’s neck with his bloody hand, rubbing his thumb up and down over the still jugular, admiring the smear he left. Sweat and dirt and blood on pretty pale skin. He thrust hard, wanting to bury himself in the body beneath him, feeling the sharp jolt when Spike’s hips fetched up against the hard edge of the desk.

“You deserve worse,” Angel hissed, passion loosening his tongue. He beat his body against the other vampire. “You deserve hell. And not for being an annoying. Irreverent. Stupid. Idiot.”

Both of Angel’s hands were on Spike’s neck now, and he used them for leverage, pulling Spike up as he thrust down, trying to jam him apart if he could. “Slut. Moron. Bitch.” Angel was loosing coherence. He moved his hands to Spike’s shoulders and slammed him into the desk again, enjoying the sound of air leaving lungs. He pressed down, feeling the little hitch of escaping air every time he thrust and pushed the body that much tighter against wood. Ribs creaked. The desk groaned. Angel felt himself about to fall over, into the abyss. He sank his fangs savagely into flesh, tasting the sweat, the grime, the flesh, and the blood. He came from the souls of his feet, it felt like, emptying all he had into the body below him as he hung on with teeth and hands for dear life.

Slowly, he became aware that laying on top of Spike, on top of his desk, wasn’t comfortable.

That, and the body under him was wriggling and saying, “Gerroff!” and higher and higher volumes.

Reluctantly, Angel rose.

As soon as he was free, Spike jumped back from the desk. Angel could feel him quivering as their flesh touched, and Spike pushed him away. The ripped g-string hung like an inadequate loin cloth, or a deflated balloon on a string around his waist. Spike’s limp cock hung clearly exposed, mostly to one side of it. “Are we done?” He asked, face a mask.

Angel shuddered, coming down from the high. He dropped back into his plush leather chair before putting his own fly to rights.

“Angelus!” Spike snapped. “Are we done with this?”

“Go, get yourself cleaned up.” Angel sighed. “And see Lorne for a new outfit. I believe Wes wanted you to straighten books or something for him this evening.”

And Angel smiled, just a little bit.

That’s when Spike knew he was really in trouble.

END


End file.
